This is about bronies. They communicate by stomping.
Gotta get out, gotta shout, gotta sing
Gotta dance, gotta jump, gotta run
Think I'll fight a war, I don't know what for
But I'll learn when I get my gun
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Open the courts and a new religion
Burning through my head
Burning through my head
Made my way with the fusiliers
I even fought my way back home
But the front line shifted and my rifle got lifted
Had to fight the war on my own
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Walking downtown gave me cold, cold fingers
And my feet were made of lead
My feet were made of lead
I'll just eat fruit on your doorstep
I'll just drink pailfuls of rain
I'm but a barnacled warship
Singing the fighter's refrain
Singing the fighter's
Made my way with the Salvation Army
Take them on with a tambourine
I'll strike down sinners like the old gunslingers
Smooth 'em out like margarine
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Open the courts and a new religion
Burning through my head
Burning through my head
Went to the gambling shop today
They had me five to one
Heard a voice behind me say
Put down the Bible and pick up your gun
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Water downtown gave me cold, cold fingers
And my feet were made of lead
My feet were made of lead
I'll just eat fruit on your doorstep
I'll just drink pailful's of rain
I'm but a barnacled warship
Singing the fighter's refrain
Singing the fighter's
Gotta dance, gotta jump, gotta run
Think I'll fight a war, I don't know what for
But I'll learn when I get my gun
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Open the courts and a new religion
Burning through my head
Burning through my head
Made my way with the fusiliers
I even fought my way back home
But the front line shifted and my rifle got lifted
Had to fight the war on my own
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Walking downtown gave me cold, cold fingers
And my feet were made of lead
My feet were made of lead
I'll just eat fruit on your doorstep
I'll just drink pailfuls of rain
I'm but a barnacled warship
Singing the fighter's refrain
Singing the fighter's
Made my way with the Salvation Army
Take them on with a tambourine
I'll strike down sinners like the old gunslingers
Smooth 'em out like margarine
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Open the courts and a new religion
Burning through my head
Burning through my head
Went to the gambling shop today
They had me five to one
Heard a voice behind me say
Put down the Bible and pick up your gun
Well, I left home three days ago
I feel like going to bed
Water downtown gave me cold, cold fingers
And my feet were made of lead
My feet were made of lead
I'll just eat fruit on your doorstep
I'll just drink pailful's of rain
I'm but a barnacled warship
Singing the fighter's refrain
Singing the fighter's
Lyrics submitted by Macphisto12, edited by copans
Barnacled Warship Lyrics as written by John Patrick Vivian Flynn
Lyrics © Reservoir Media Management, Inc., Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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The lyrics of this song are very profound and at the same time cynical and tragic I think.
As far as I understand it, the "I" of this song, the "barnacled warship", is a person that lives his life looking out for groups or "armys" he can join. He doesn´t care about the contents or the purposes, but he just wants to get active in fighting and it´s enough for him to know he belongs to a special collective: "think I´ll fight a war I don´t know what for". And so he joins the real Army and afterwards also a christian group (the Salvation Army), that doesn´t make any difference to him. And again afterwards he puts down his Bible and picks up the real gun again. And we can imagine that he still is going to change his "membership" many many times, regardless of belief or ideology.
What I find most sinister about it is this quality "barnacled". Like an unintelligent burr he sticks to his "army", not as a thinking human being. He´s satisfied to stay on the doorsteps and eat some fruit and have "pillfuls of rain" like an animal. And he´s suffering ("cold fingers", "feet made of lead"). He´s left his home,he permanently leaves his home and in spite of feeling fresh and eager he feels "like going to bed", an expression for the numb und dull mood he is in.
And Johnny´s bitter-naive tone as well as the mechanical stamping and pacing of the cello and also the shrill and piercing violins display this whole attitude hauntingly. It´s really art, a real masterpiece.